She served the committee members in turn, and as they helped themselves to one or two biscuits, each rewarded her with a smile—except Simon, but Chloe was doubtful he’d ever smiled in his entire life. As he took a handful of biscuits, which Chloe thought was extremely rude, he gave her a bit of a grunt. Perhaps it was his way of saying “thank you”.
Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. “Get that will you, Chloe,” Cecily called from the kitchen. So far, co-chairing the Christmas Fair was a lot like being a dogsbody for a bunch of pensioners.
Chloe, still holding the plate of biscuits, took herself off to the front door and opened it. In five hundred million years she would never ever, ever, have guessed who would be standing on the front step, duffel bag over one shoulder and looking even more handsome than he did on the big screen.
She nearly dropped the plate.
“Hello,” said the world’s biggest film star as he wiped raindrops from his shoulders.
“Hello,” she said, unwittingly blocking the doorway.
“Do you mind if I come in?”
She shook her head, dumbly, then realised she was in the way. “Oh, sorry.” What is happening?
“Thanks,” he shuffled past her and raised a hand at the room of people. “Hello everyone, is my mum home?”
“In the kitchen, darling!” Cecily sang out.
Holy frigging hell. Cecily was Archer Tate’s mother.
Once Chloe recovered from the shock of opening the door to the world’s biggest film star, the Christmas Fair meeting had gone quite well. After warm greetings from everyone, including Simon, and a kiss from his mother, Archer had left them to it, settling into the guest room while Chloe asked everyone to explain their roles and update the group on their progress.
It turned out that all Chloe would have to do was help Cecily manage the logistics on the day, so that everything from deliveries to set-up to packing up went smoothly.
The committee members departed, including Susan, all with promises to complete last-minute checks and to call if there were any problems, and Chloe had stayed to help Cecily clean up. At least, that’s what she’d told Cecily, who was putting the furniture back into its proper places while Chloe was up to her elbows in sudsy water.
Chloe eyed the dishwasher with annoyance as she washed another teacup. Why had she been tasked with handwashing everything if there was a dishwasher? And when was Archer going to come and talk to her? As far as she could tell, she was the only person in the entire village who was even close to his age. Maybe they’d hook up. That would certainly make it a Christmas to remember.
“Hello again.” The voice startled her, pulling from her daydream of hooking up with Archer Tate the film star, right back into his mother’s kitchen where he was standing beside her, a huge grin on his face.
In a millisecond, she took in the high cheekbones, chiselled jawline, cleft chin, full lips stretched tautly over perfectly straight teeth, and the strong dark brows and thick lashes that framed two of the most famous blue eyes on the planet.
“Hello,” she said, wishing she’d opted out of the orange and yellow floral rubber gloves.
“Chloe, right?”
“Yep.” Play it cool, as if you meet super-famous people every day. She had met famous people before. Well, people who were famous in Australia. Hardly the same thing. Although, she’d met Hugh Jackman once. He’d been just as lovely as everyone said he was.
“I’m Archer.”
She stopped herself from saying, “I know,” and instead replied with a casual, “Nice to meet you, Archer. I’d shake your hand but …” She held up her sheathed hands, then went back to the dishes. He picked up a tea towel and started drying. It was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen.
“So, I’m a little fuzzy on why a gorgeous Australian woman is in my mum’s kitchen doing the washing up.” Gorgeous. He’d called her “gorgeous”. Point one for the “hooking up” daydream.
“Oh, it’s just this thing I like to do. Travel to a different country, go village to village, then door to door, and offer to wash people’s dishes. It’s becoming a bit of a craze, actually. You may have heard of it? Hashtag dirty-dish-tourism?” She handed him the next clean cup.
“Oh, right! Yes, I think I saw that trending on Instagram not so long ago. I wasn’t quite sure what it was all about, and here I am meeting one of you in the flesh.”
She giggled and looked up at him. God, he was tall. He must have been well over six-foot. She’d need to stand on a stool if she ever got the chance to kiss him. Please let me kiss him, she thought. He smelled good too. Spicy, like Christmas. When he smiled down at her, the surrealness of the moment was overwhelming. She looked back at the soapy sink.
“Really, though, I’ve been roped into helping out with the Christmas Fair. Someone named Deirdre stepped in a rabbit hole and turned her ankle, so now I’m in charge. Well, co-in charge, anyway—with your mum.”
“Lucky you.” He took the next cup and dried it with the tea towel. Yummy forearms, she thought. She was a sucker for those.
“Well, to be fair, no pun intended,” she said, “there’s not much to do until tomorrow. Everyone seems to have their bits in hand. Oh—”
“Bits in hand?” Yep. He’d heard it and his mind had gone exactly where hers had—a shared adolescent response to her gaff. Her hand flew to her mouth as a reflex just as she started to laugh, filling her mouth with soap bubbles, which she then tried to wipe out of her mouth with the same sudsy glove, making it all worse.
By this stage, she was in a fit of giggles, spluttering out soap bubbles and helplessly flailing her arms about. “Hold still.” He was laughing too as he captured her chin with his hand and wiped her face
